Solitaire
by undefeatedly
Summary: Riku, stuck in a boarding school for a time length that he's not quite sure of, still manages to stir up a storm. There's lessons, boyfriends and girlfriends and more boyfriends galore—and most of all, a lot of...fun. Riku POV. Soriku Roxairi Roxiku
1. xx Solitaire

Disclaimer: I'd much rather spend the money that it would take to buy the KH rights on TH stuff, which is why I don't own KH. ;D

Warnings: swearing, some slightly mature content. Rating may or may not up in the future.

Music: Wir schliessen uns ein, Tokio Hotel

I'd like to dedicate this to xoxolilac on THF, because even though I've never talked to her and she'll probably never read it, her story Dominoes was really amazing anyways and what inspired this.

Just a little fun thing I wanted to write. Hope you enjoy, this'll be my current project for a bit. (:

-----xx----------xx----------xx-----

The story starts here, in a boarding school that's like university without the fun.

I'm already bored out of my mind, really. This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm _supposed_ to be on the mainland right now, living with Mum. Not in a crappy private school on the other side of the island with nothing today except to go to…well, school.

School is for sissies anyways. There's no point in it, except for this so-called "education". Who gives a shit about it, anyways? I sure don't.

But whatever. That's not what matters, really. Now is what matters. Everything that really matters right now is here, right in front of me.

I'm just too damn lazy or stupid or whatever the hell you want to call it to see.

But that's not the point. This is a story, not a diary or journal or whatever the hell it might've been, so I'll do my damned best to tell it to the end.

Let's start again, at the…almost beginning. The beginning itself is too complicated for me to explain. Or maybe I just don't want to explain. Either one.

I arrive in front of the campus grounds. There's a large arch over my head with the school's name on it and their motto, some shit in Latin that I probably can't pronounce properly, let alone understand. And really, who the fuck names a school "the Schliessen Academy"? Now that's messed up.

I get out of the taxi, pay the driver and he drives off, leaving me in front of the stupid arch with the German-sounded name and unpronounceable slogan with one suitcase, one backpack and a pair of headphones around my neck. Nice ones, just so you know—I managed to guilt-trip Father dearest into getting them for me.

This tiny little woman walks up to me. I swear to God, she must be like eighty or something. And two or so inches shorter than me, at least. It's kind of weird, and I hope that the rest of the staff won't be this short. Or this old. There's gotta be at least one person with a nice ass that I can ogle.

"Welcome to the Schliessen Academy," the old-teacher-lady says cheerfully. At least, that's what I think she said. She's got some really strong accent that I really can't understand for shit.

"Thanks," I manage to grit out half-politely. Might as well to leave a…decent impression, right?

"Right now, it's brick rhyme so you have lime to kettle tinto your loom. Your loomnate rill be tere, and he'll schau you around. Grasses are ober for the gay."

I give her a completely blank stare, because I have no idea what the hell she just said. I don't think she quite liked that, because she ended up just pointing in the direction of some old, ivy-covered building.

"You. There. Go. Now."

That I can understand. What I don't understand is how she's lived this long without anyone strangling her because they have no idea what she said either. I turn, giving her a little wave over my shoulder.

Ignore the fact that I don't know who the hell my roommate is or what the hell my room number is. Or even if that's the right dorm. I'll just hope.

After maybe five minutes or so I finally get to the door of the dorm. I think it's a dorm, at least. You never know—daddy might've just sent me off to juvie instead. You can never tell, especially if their motto's in Latin or whatever.

I knock, because that seems to be the appropriate thing to do. Obviously it wasn't, though, considering that nobody comes. So I go in, and at first glance it doesn't look like there's anyone there. Doesn't look like anyone's here on the second glance either.

Luckily for me, though, there's a listing of everyone's names and their rooms on it on the bulletin board to the left of me. I don't know why—it's practically screaming "COME IN AND RAPE ME NAU", really—but right now it's a lifesaver. I examine it for about thirty seconds before I realize that mess of pink pen (what the hell?) in a previously empty square is my name.

Room 483. Quatre cent quatre-vingt-trois. Vierhundertdreiundachtzehn. Four eight three. That's about the limit of my foreign language experience.

So I drag my (thankfully light) suitcase up four flights of stairs and through the hall to this room 483.

I knock on the door, hoping that the gibberish that old lady spouted meant something along the lines of "your roommate's in right now".

I wonder why they say they're "in"? "The doctor's in, come on and sit down and get poked and prodded". Is it because they're "in" the room? But they're never actually "in" the room when the nurse tells you to go there; usually you just have to wait some more except this time there aren't any coughing patients to distract you. Maybe it's because they're "in" the building?

But what if they took break to go have a smoke? Or maybe they got shot in the forehead while on their way to the office? Are they still "in" even if they're dead?

The door opens just in time to kill my train of thought. Damn, and I was having such a fun time with that one too

I wonder why they call it a "train of thought"…?

The spiky-haired blond (how the hell does he get his hair to stay like that?) in front of me cuts me off before I can go there again, thankfully (I guess).

"They never told me the new roommate would be a girl," he deadpans.

I frown at him. "Just because you're taller doesn't mean you can pick on me, prick." So what if my hair's nicer than his? Just because I spend _time_ on it doesn't designate me as a so-called "girl". I could always tell him that I spend more time on my hair than most girls but that probably wouldn't help my case.

He smiles for a second. "Well, wouldn't you know it? The new kid's got spunk." He opens the door wider, an invitation to enter. "Come on in, then." I wheel the small dark red suitcase in carefully, taking in the surroundings.

His side of the room's got a shitload of posters taped up on the walls and a guitar propped in the corner. The bed's a mess, completely buried underneath clothes and stuff like that. There's a pack of cards spread out in what looks to be…solitaire? on the floor. Funny, I never knew people actually had the patience to play that not on a computer.

The other side of the room's perfectly untouched. It's like there's an invisible line down the middle dividing "his side" from the "other side". I guess there used to be someone else here. Someone else before me, someone else who cared about that type of stuff.

"So, I guess it's pretty obvious, but your side's that side." He gestures towards the empty side. "Sorry it's a mess, I got too lazy to clean up."

I shrug. "It's okay, I don't mind. Frankly, I'd be more scared if you were some neat freak."

He laughs, a nice-sounding sound. "That's good, because half the time I can't be bothered to pick all this shit up."

I sit on my bed. They've been nice enough to give me sheets to go with it, although they're some really ugly looking harvesty-thanksgiving-fall colour palette. And even worse yet, they're covered in flowers. It's disgusting, really—I'll have to pick up some fabric when I'm in town and make some better ones myself.

"So tell me about this school of yours," I say conversationally. It's not really a question, but not really a statement either. Just a conversation starter.

"You're not going to unpack?" he asks, glancing at the suitcase and backpack sitting by each other in front of my dresser.

"No. I'll just be living out of my suitcase until it's time for me to leave again," I say nonchalantly. I don't mind, really. It makes this place a little more tolerable, a little more like a stop on the road of life than a residence.

"Suit yourself," he replies. "So, what do you want to know?"

I pause to think for a little. "Well, for starters, your name, maybe?"

He laughs again. "Wow, can't believe I completely forgot about that." He waves a hand disregardingly. "Roxas Shirin, it's nice to meet you. And you?"

"Riku Masaki," I say. That's technically not my last name right now, it's my mother's—but I'm not very inclined to admit that I'm related to the man who sent me to this hellhole.

At least the one person (that creepy old lady is _not_ a person, I tell you) I've met has been nice so far.

He sits on the floor in front of his card game again. "Now, the one thing about this school that you've really got to know is that it's like Solitaire—you don't need any real skill, just a ton of luck." He moves a card or two around and all of a sudden he's done, completely finished. Roxas (I'll have to be sure not to mispronounce it later on) gathers the cards up and then slides them back into their box.

I notice that they're round, and wonder how the hell he can read them so easily. I sure can't.

It's all luck, I guess.

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A/N: yeah, namikun's basically saying "screw the no fanfic thing" because she's bored as hell and really wanted to write this and has nothing better to do because it's March Break, nobody's on the forums and she's out of ribbon.

This was completely inspired in every way by xoxolilac's story Dominoes at www (dot) tokiohotelfiction (dot) com, because it was really fucking amazing. So total props to her. (: I hope this can live up to even half of the awesomeness Dominoes was.

I know it's not my usual style, sorry. C: This was originally supposed to be a…much shorter chapter, I guess. I guess it's short compared to, say, Sakuline or Throughout the Years but it'll probably be around this length throughout the story. I'm kind of scared at how fast it took for me to type this out, in a way. xD

Pairings will be Roxas/Kairi, Sora/Riku and then eventually turn into Roxas/Riku. C:

Next chapter: As classes start, something is set in motion that won't be stopped, and a new hand of cards is dealt.

-namikun


	2. xx Karma

Disclaimer: you should know better than to think that I own KH.

Warning: swearing

Dedication: To Kat, whose replies I always look forward to reading and is one of the awesomest people evar. (: I'll get the tourbus fic done ASAP! Thank you for always having the best comments in store, and for always making my day funnier.

And a huge thank you to xoxolilac for writing Dominoes which inspired this. (:

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It's my first real day of classes, but oh, how I wish it wasn't.

My head is hurting like hell but I forgot. The damn. Tylenol. At home.

I am so pissed off right now, I could just strangle someone. Preferably the teacher. Or maybe I could just discreetly fall asleep here.

"Riku!" she says sharply, jolting me awake. I swear to god, they don't need fire alarms—they just need her to scream and it's all good.

I glare at her, but she doesn't notice. If she does, then she's damn good at hiding it. I really don't want to deal with French verbs right now, especially considering that I haven't taken a French class since grade two. And guess what? I'm grade ten now. Don't even ask how the hell I'm taking French, because _apparently_ German—what I took at my old school—is full. Sucks, too, because I could actually (drumroll) do well at German! But that's bullshit, I saw their class. There are like fifteen people there.

Sixteen, I guess, because that fatass girl counts as two. But I digress. Karma's a bitch.

"Can you conjugate this?" she asks, pointing to the verb on the board. I have no idea what the fuck it is or how the hell to conjugate it or even what the hell it means.

"_Ich kann nicht Französisch sprechen_," I reply boredly. I can't speak French. That should hopefully throw her off for a bit, because I'm obviously much more fluent in German than French.

She walks over to my desk, and looks at me threateningly. "_Si tu ne parleras pas, tu ne reussiteras pas. Comprender_"

I blink at her, confused. I guess she understands German more than I thought she did. Unfortunately, I don't understand French more than she thought I did. "_Entschuldigung, aber bevor lernt' ich Deutsche. Ich kann kein Französisch sprechen—verstehen Sie, oder_" Sorry, but I took German before. I can't speak French—do you understand?

"_Oui, je te peux comprender. Mais, parce que tu es dans la classe__ française__, tu dois le parler. Il n'y a pas d'allemand dans ma classe_"

I stare at her blankly some more. I don't think she understands that I have no idea what the fuck she's saying. Maybe I should try English? I open my mouth, about to tell her off properly until the boy beside me, forgotten until now, coughs something under his breath. "_Je comprende_," it sounds like.

"Are you sure?" I cough back. He coughs an agreement. It's all so very obvious that I'm surprised at the fact that the rest of the class isn't laughing their asses off.

"Shut the fuck up," the teacher coughs, cutting us both off. "_As-tu un réponse_?" she asks.

"Uhm, _je comprende_." I say, not quite sure of myself. It seems to satisfy her because she finally leaves. I put my head back down on the desk, fully prepared to go back to sleep. Waking up at seven in the morning is much too early for me.

"Riku!" she yells from across the room. "No sleeping!" I mumble, turning the other way. Luckily for me, the nice boy (I've decided this just now) beside me pokes me in the side, where I'm kind of-really-actually-sort of sensitive. Much to the chagrin of my dignity, I emit a quiet squeak. And he has the nerve to _laugh_ at me. Karma strikes again; he saves me and then decides to embarrass me. I'm on the verge of retracting my previous thoughts about him until he starts speaking.

I've got to say, this kid has got the _nicest _voice in existence. It's not like, totally sexy or anything, it's just so sweet and pretty. Not like, girly or anything. It just sounds good, y'know? Damn, I'm jealous. Sure, my voice is nice when I start singing but when I'm not it's got a tendency to go high at times and go low at others and crack at points and just overall sound not-that-good.

"That…was a close one, wasn't it?" he asks, peering down at the back of my head.

"Whatever," I mumble in response. I'm really tired right now for some reason, and I wouldn't be surprised if as soon as I got back to the room (the room, not my room—I'd prefer to not get attached to this place) I fell asleep.

He sighs, and pokes me lightly in the side again. Thankfully, no squeak this time. "If you don't sit up she's going to notice you." That gets my attention, and begrudgingly, I straighten, only to rest my face on my hand and stare ahead blearily.

"Thanks," I say. "For helping, I mean." I don't say thank you very much (and mean it), although that's probably because people don't help me very much. It's not that I turn everyone away; I guess it's just that people don't think I need help. Or something along those lines. Karma. I don't say thank you, and people are less inclined to help.

"It's no problem," he replies. "She jumps on everyone who's new, so don't worry—you're not the first." The first? The first what? Kid with silver hair? Kid who can't speak French? Kid who fell asleep (or wants to)?

I guess he means I'm not the first new kid here, but whatever. I like to think about the possibilities, okay?

"What's your name?" I ask. Tact be damned. Tact is for people who actually want to bother being this so-called "nice".

"Sora, Sora Harada." He smiles, unfazed by my rudeness. "And you're Riku, right?" I nod. "You're rooming with…Roxas, yes?"

I look at him a little funny. "How did you know?" I ask suspiciously. That's kind of creepy, if you get my drift.

He shrugs. "Only person who doesn't have a roommate right now. It's only logical."

"Right now," I repeat. "You mean he had one before?" All of a sudden I'm interested. Gossip is one of my favourite things, even if I'm the one being talked about. It's fun seeing what people say about each other, because all it does is tell you who trusts who and who doesn't.

Idiots. They should know not to tell people that you wouldn't trust with your life anything important by now. I mean, that's what I learned in elementary school. Apparently the standards are different here.

He shrugs. "Not my story to tell." I hate that phrase. It implies that something big's gone down, some thing large enough to warrant being called "a story". It also says that someone wrote it—and you can't write life like that, unless we're all just somehow characters in a book that some divine being's writing just for kicks that's been going on for ages.

If it's not his story to tell, then whose is it? That thought's going to be bugging me for a bit until I find out, I can tell. Karma, yet again. I get out of getting yelled at but now there's a voice in my head bugging me about this problem.

I hate being out of the loop. And despite the fact that I just got here yesterday, I might as well try my best to get in the loop. There's no way I'm going to settle for being some random faceless new kid, might as well take advantage of the attention and play it up.

The bell rings, which means I can finally get out of this stupid classroom. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it? I'm taking French in a classroom plastered with German proverbs and German verb conjugations along the wall, what the hell. And apparently the German class is in the French room. Again, _what the hell_. This is one messed-up school.

"What class do you have next?" Sora asks, either out of politeness or genuine curiosity. I dig around in my bag, pulling out the crumpled white paper that is my schedule. "Er. A spare."

He raises his eyebrows, looking at me funny. "You're not serious, are you?" Damn, he's called my bluff.

"Yeah, you're right," I answer. "It's called science," I elaborate.

He laughs, most likely at what I said and not me. But hey, you never know—maybe he just thinks I'm a retard who can't keep himself awake anyways. Or a druggie or an anorexic or whatever else. And frankly, I don't care. Why should I care?

There is only one person's opinion I care about in the world, and that is my own. Sure, call me narcissistic. Call me anti-social. Call me whatever you want—I don't care, remember? And that's the beauty of it all. Karma, see?

"I've got the same class," he says. "I'll walk with you." And the pretty voice is back in action again. It's nice of him to offer, but the science room is just down the hall. Ah well, I don't mind.

"D'you know," I muse, "nobody's ever been this nice to me at my old school." It's a partial lie—there was one girl, Namine, who didn't actually treat me like shit like everyone else (sure, they may have acted nice but I'm good at seeing through these things—and it was so painfully obvious anyone could've noticed it.), but she moved after a bit.

He looks pretty shocked. That's fun to see. "Really? Wow. That's...hard to believe. I mean, you're nice and all—it's weird how anyone could just hate you."

I giggle a little at that. "That was sweet of you to say." And right there, ladies and gentlemen, is proof that karma does exist.

Treat someone like shit and they'll treat you like shit right back. Act nice to someone and they'll be nice right back.

Kill someone and you'll be killed yourself eventually. Help someone and you'll be helped yourself eventually.

Karma has no cure, and that's why people still believe in it, I guess. But remember what I said earlier, about being too goddamn lazy or whatever to see things even though it's right in front of me?

Yeah, this is one of the things I'm talking about. I refuse to believe in karma, maybe because it doesn't do me much good. I'd prefer to say that all the bad things that happened in my life happened because I was unlucky and all the good things happened because I was lucky. It makes me feel less inclined to actually be _nice_ to people—you know what I'm saying?

Isn't it just so much fun to live life blind to the truth? I think so, don't you?

-----xx----------xx----------xx-----

A/N: I'm really fucking pissed right now. (and when I say that, it means I want someone to ask about it. See what I did there?)

The French teacher basically tells Riku to STFU and start speaking French.

Out pretty fast. I hope you're happy. I'm not happy with the stats, but I'm not a writer who waits for reviews. I'd be waiting forever to get five. Pretty pathetic, huh.

A huge thank-you to the one person (**iluvtoady**) who thought this was good enough to follow along with!

Next chapter: I have no fucking idea.

-namikun


	3. xx Skanks

Disclaimer: KH. Er. Nicht mein.  
Warning: swearing, making out, I think that's it...  
Music: 1000 Oceans, Tokio Hotel  
Dedication: for Kat, who is seriously the most amazing person EVER

And as usual, thank you to xoxolilac for inspiring this!

* * *

Classes are done for the day, and I'm walking back to the dorm. The people who designed the campus were thoughtful enough to put the class building near the residential area, so I don't have to lug my (admittedly light) backpack too far.

But I guess it's not that hard either way. See, I don't believe in binders, and I keep all the blank paper that I need in one of those spiral-bound notebooks with the perforated margins so you can rip sheets out easily as you need them. All the handouts just stay loose in my bag, which probably explains why they're always so beat up.

I let myself into the dorm building, and again, there's no-one in the downstairs lounge. Walking past the room list with its mess of pink pen (no, seriously, who the fuck uses _pink pen_ nowadays? It's not that I have anything against pink itself, it's just so damn hard to read), I go up the stairs to my room again and open the door using the shiny new (well, not really that shiny or new) room key they gave me this morning.

And lo and behold, what should I see but my roommate making out with some red-headed girl right in front of me.

"I'll…leave you two alone," I say quickly, shutting the door again as fast as possible. Turning around, I weigh my options before deciding on one. I go downstairs (again) and look at the list, finding the name I want and going up four flights of stairs to face the room…

…right across from mine. What the fuck, that was completely pointless.

I knock anyways, hoping that he's in.

Luckily for me, he's come back already, and opens the door rather quickly. "What's up, Riku?" Sora asks, surprised. He's already changed into casual clothes, and eyes my uniform oddly—it is pretty uncomfortable, so I can understand why he's wondering why I haven't taken it off yet.

"Roxas is swapping spit with some skank and it's starting to scare me, so can I hang with you for a bit?" I ask. It's a lot to demand of someone you just met today, but he's nice and I think he won't mind. Hopefully.

He winces sympathetically at my plight. "Ouch, that's harsh." And once again, I find a dorm room door being opened wider to me. "Come on in," he says.

I sigh in relief, happy that he didn't turn me down. "Thanks," I reply, flashing a quick smile at him gratefully.

"No problem," he replies easily. I wonder when people stopped saying "you're welcome"? Maybe it was when we figured out that 'welcome' meant 'oh hi there come on in,' because if you think about in that way it doesn't quite fit.

I mean, it doesn't fit at all, really. But whatever, I guess it's too late to change that now.

I step into his room, and he shuts the door behind me. That was nice of him, wasn't it? I thought so. And no, I'm not being sarcastic at all—I really did think it was nice of him.

"So, what's the deal with that girl anyways?" I ask Sora, jumping straight to the point. I mean, what else would there be to talk about?

"Roxas's current girlfriend," Sora says, shrugging. "He's got a thing for redheads nowadays."

I tug on my own moonpale silver hair absent-mindedly. "Why red-heads?" I wonder. It doesn't quite make sense to me, but maybe that's just because I'm new here. Out of the loop. I hate it.

"It's a long story," he replies, trying to dissuade me. It doesn't work—I've just been kicked out of my own room, I've got time to kill.

"I don't mind," I say in return. I'm dying to know, really, and the fact that Sora won't tell just sharpens that urge of mine to know.

He smiles softly. "Then…we might as well hear it straight from the source, I guess." He takes me gently by the wrist and opens the door again, knocking on the door of…well, my room.

There's a muffled yelp and some shuffling noises from inside. I wince, hoping they didn't touch my side. It really didn't sound too good, you know?

A Roxas with his hair slightly messed up and clothes slightly askew opens the door, glaring at Sora like there's no tomorrow. The red-haired skank is sitting on the bed—_his_ bed, thankfully—looking slightly dazed at us. Her hair's just as messed up as his, and I shudder to think of the tangles that must now be in it.

"What is it, Sora?" he asks exasperatedly, as if he's been through this already—which he probably has. He runs a hand through his spikes in a vain attempt to straighten it out, but it fails kind of badly.

"You kicked your roommate out of his own room," Sora reprimands gently. See, that's the thing with him—he somehow manages to tell people off without sounding like it, I guess. "You're not on your own anymore, Roxas."

The blond winces, as if he's just remembered. Which…I guess he really just has, from the looks of it.

"Oh god, seriously?" he asks. "Sorry about that, really," he says, looking me straight in the eyes. I can tell he's either sincere or a really really good liar, so I…guess I don't mind that much. Maybe.

"It's okay, I guess," I reply. "Just…don't do it again." He laughs at that, and again I'm reminded of how nice his laugh sounds.

"Kairi," he calls over his shoulder back into his room. I'm supposing that's that skank's name, because my name isn't Kairi, Sora's name isn't Kairi and, well, Roxas's name obviously isn't Kairi. "There's someone here you should meet!"

She stands up from the bed, straightening her shirt and tugging her skirt down automatically. Do all girls do that? I guess I would too, if I was wearing a skirt that short. But then again, who would be stupid to wear a skirt that short?

"Who is it?" she asks. Her voice is an average female voice. It's not that nice sounding, but it's not like it sounds totally horrible either. At least her tone isn't totally rude, if it was I would've…I don't know, slapped her or something.

"This is my roommate," Roxas said.

She glances at Roxas, almost subtly. "What happened to the old one?" I twitch. Out of the loop again.

Maybe I would've been better not going here in the first place…

"You didn't hear? He…left," Roxas said. He sounds kind of annoyed now. I guess it's a sensitive topic?

She shakes her head. "Nope, never heard anything about that."

"Really? Weird." He glances towards his backpack in the most obvious manner ever. "Ugh, I just remembered I have a load of homework to do. Sorry, hun."

She pouts. "Seriously? That sucks." She pushes past me and Sora, waving over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

He nods absentmindedly. "Yeah. Sure." He turns to us. "Do you wanna come in? Sora, I mean. Riku can just come in every time. Because he lives here, I mean."

"Okay, I guess," Sora says. I don't bother replying, just enter. Sora follows.

"Are you here for a reason?" Roxas asks. It's purely curiosity, from what I can tell—and I'm pretty good at telling this shit.

Sora smiles, and for that one second he reminds me of some teacher I had some time ago named Aerith. Like, she could diffuse practically any situation and calm anyone down. Sora seems like the type of person who could do that if he tried, I guess.

"We came to see if you'd tell us a story," Sora says calmly happily kind of ish. It's a hard thing to describe, really.

"Depends on who," Roxas counters. He doesn't sound particularly annoyed, just teasing in a way.

"You remember Axel, don't you?" Sora asks in a manner than implies that yes, he knows that Roxas knows who Axel is.

Who the fuck is Axel?

"What about him?" Roxas asks. He makes no move to deny that he once knew this Axel. Sometimes, Roxas acts like he has no emotions, I've seen. Just like now, because wouldn't others get, I don't know, maybe a little mad or exasperated or angry or sad or what?

"Riku here should know the story," Sora replies calmly. I'm feeling like he's treating me like a little kid, but hey—as long as I get my gossip.

Drama, you see, is a wonderful thing. It livens up the boredom that is dorm life and makes thing much more fun from day to day. Unless, of course, you're personally caught up in it. But, if you're not, watching it is just oh-so-entertaining.

"Alright," Roxas says. He doesn't sound angry at all at the fact that Sora came in, kind of made him kick his girlfriend out and then demanded that he bring up the past again. It's kind of creepy in a way. "Why don't you sit down?" he asks. He takes a spot on his cluttered bed, and Sora sits beside me on my own one.

"So," he begins. "This all started last year, at the beginning of September…"

* * *

Yay, us Safari users can finally use WH-tchamacallit editing. ;D

This took waaay longer than it should of. TTxTT Sorry, it's completely my fault. D; I apologize!

D'you think it took a kind of depressed turn later on? I was feeling a little down. Forgot my Math ISU at school today. It's due in two days and I've finished a page and a half. XD Also, tokiohotelfiction is down for an indefinite amount of time and I'm suffering from withdrawal. And worst of all, they deleted our twincest thread on the forums! I ended up creating our own forum so we could discuss it properly. kaulitzcest (dot) freeforums (dot) org. yep, that's us.

Sooo tired. D; It's like 1:48 in the morning, so I'll...just go to bed soon.

I'm trying to write TTY and Sakuline. I'm getting somewhere. (:

Tschüss!

-namikun


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